Not only were there people lining up all afternoon, but there were a few who kept calling my register.

I was in the freakin underwear department. If they had questions about bras, panties, thongs, or pajamas I could answer those. But no. Ever question was for fine jewelry or lawn and garden. But everyone who called refused to be transferred, and wanted to speak to a manager. There's no direct line to a manager. If I can't answer your question you have to let me transfer you to the right department. Don't be such a dick about everything. >:\

And you. You with the massive layaway. I weigh less than that box. Don't put it on the counter and expect me to be able to turn it around and upside down to scan it. Don't bitch at me when I ask you to help. I've been here since noon and it's 8pm. I've been on my feet all day ringing up thongs I could tie around my waist as belts and single purchases larger than my bank account and am not going to put up with yet more bullshit from you. The phone is ringing. There are other people waiting in line. You can help me move a freakin box.